


Again

by StarryGatorr



Series: Demortality AU [1]
Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Blood, Death, Gen, Somewhat Graphic Description of Corpses, Vomiting, no beta we die like cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryGatorr/pseuds/StarryGatorr
Summary: “Again.”Prepubescent legs push down upon the ground, up comes the rest. One step was all it took to ruin the many before it, and it feels as though getting up takes five times as much.The results are the same.“Again.”If man were to have true equality, then the mind would not triumph over the rest of the body. What fairness comes with having a malfunctioning, depressed little sack of pink meat calling all of the shots? There’s no use in having bad thoughts, especially ones that weigh so much. Everything feels heavy.
Series: Demortality AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098665
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Again

_ “Again.” _

_ Prepubescent legs push down upon the ground, up comes the rest. One step was all it took to ruin the many before it, and it feels as though getting up takes five times as much.  _

_ The results are the same. _

_ “Again.” _

_ If man were to have true equality, then the mind would not triumph over the rest of the body. What fairness comes with having a malfunctioning, depressed little sack of pink meat calling all of the shots? There’s no use in having bad thoughts, especially ones that weigh so much. Everything feels heavy. _

_   
_ _ “Again!" _

_   
_ _ It’s hard to get up, though, says nobody. Laying uselessly on the floor does nothing but warrant future hardships. Getting up warrants present hardships. Where is the past? Falling on its face, just as it did a moment ago. _

_ “Again! Again! Again!” _

_ It feels useless to go on, but choices are an unaffordable luxury in this place. The only thing there is to do is try again. So, with a reluctant heart and rebellious mind… _

\---

Cole opens his eyes.

The very first thing his thoughts drift to is how odd his dream was. Dreams about his time in Marty Oppenheimer’s School of Performing Arts were hardly anything new to him, but it's been ages since he last dreamt about it. He almost misses those times, where the worst of his nightmares were about things like growing up as a dancer or facing a dragon. Much less terrifying than being forgotten by all of his loved ones or falling into a cloud of impermeable, frigid darkness.

A light flickers overhead and suddenly Cole realizes he’s been staring at a dark gray wall for the past few minutes. The floor underneath him is the same material, although the color varies in some spots due to grime. Disgusted, he sits up quickly in order to distance himself from the dirty floor.

Dizziness and fatigue hit him like a freight train. Everything at once feels wrong. His bones are heavy like their marrow has been turned to granite. His chest is at war with his stomach, the two fighting for space in too-tight ribs; in the end, everything feels like it’s in knots. His ears are drumming against his brain, causing ripples of black to flood his vision.

It takes an excruciatingly long time for the pain to subside. Cole sits up slowly and steadily this time, vaguely registering the fact that he collapsed onto the unsanitary floor again. Finally, he has a chance to survey the room he’s woken up in, and it is beyond disappointing. It’s dingy and small, probably a backroom to some larger facility. There’s a table in the corner with two chairs, one upright and the other knocked over. To his left is a door that’s slightly ajar. A small wave of relief washes over him knowing that he isn’t locked in a cell somewhere.

Concern soon overtakes that small victory. If he’s not locked up, then where is he and why is he here? Nothing about the room speaks friendliness to him. His sluggishness also raises some flags. For a moment, he considers that perhaps this is a hangover. It would explain many things, such as why he feels so awful and why he’s wet with what he believes is sweat. He wipes it off.

Dazed, he notes that sweat isn’t red.

He bristles at the realization. Worst case scenarios fly through his mind as he forces himself to look down. Practically every part of him is sprayed with blood, condensed mostly around his hands and feet. It’s difficult to see on the black cloth of his gi, which Cole registers as a sign he was on a mission. The only time he dons his ninja robes are for training and battling. As if the suit weren’t ruined enough already, there’s also a tear around his midsection. The blood around it is old and dry.

“Oookay, don’t panic Cole. Why panic? Waking up in a suspicious room with no memory of how you got there and covered in blood is like any other Thursday! At least, I hope it’s still Thursday. Oh geez…” He mumbles. Hardly an hour into consciousness and he’s fallen back into the habit of speaking to himself. 

Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to answer his questions so he takes a deep breath, stands up, and leaves the room.

The temperature drops. Above are metal sheets and beams that form the ceiling. In front of him are rows and rows of industrial shelving stacked with large crates. The room is ginormous. It finally registers to Cole that he’s woken up in a warehouse.

He raises his hand to scratch at his head but stops when he remembers it’s filthy. Unease cements itself in the bottom of his gut. The more he discovers, the more questions he’s left with. His memories of the past 24 hours start coherent, then grow murky as he follows them, and finally cut out abruptly.

“Come on, brain, just give me something…” He groans at nothing and receives nothing.

The sound of his shoes hitting the floor echo through the vast space as he traverses forward. Everything was quiet, which did more to unnerve Cole than any noise would. Shouldn’t there be someone or something around? What’s the point in capturing him and sticking him in some random empty building?

A shrill dinging sends him reeling. He looks around frantically for the source, only to realize he had kicked something along the floor. Stray bullets and bullet casings litter the row he’s walking along. Suddenly he’s aware of the metallic smell that’s just now become unavoidable. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, the smell strong and nearby. Cautiously, he rounds the next corner and peers down the row next to his.

His breath hitches in his throat. Part of him hopes this is merely a disturbing nightmare and not a product of reality. He hopes that he’s currently sprawled across the couch in the living room with the TV left playing, maybe stuck on a game over screen after he passed out while gaming. He hopes that soon he’ll feel Zane’s cool, smooth hand upon his shoulder, shaking him awake. Or maybe Jay will yell at him until he gets up. Or maybe Wu will give him a well-earned smack on the head with his staff. Cole won’t even be mad. All he wants right now is to wake up.

But he’s already painfully awake.

Three figures are strewn about on the ground. They’re all men, they’re all dressed in black, and they’re all dead. Blood coats the limunom tiles the bodies are slumped on. It stains their pants and coats from where it drips out of their wounds, except for one, who has no injuries besides his neck. His head is turned 180 degrees, skin pulled taught, and Cole is briefly thankful he can’t see the man’s face. It does nothing to soothe his horror, though.

Four weapons are also strewn about. There’s a handgun next to one corpse, a knife next to another, and a rifle discarded a few feet away. Only one of them truly caught his eye. In the center of the carnage was a large, heavy hammer, the head made of porous grey stone.

It isn’t just any hammer. It’s  _ his _ hammer. It’s his hammer, and it’s mottled with brains and gore, and it has red hand prints across it, and his own red hands shake.

Cole’s eyes water. The sight and the smell of it all makes it feel like his insides are doing backflips. He retches. His knees almost give out as he turns to hold the shelf. It splinters under his iron grip as he empties his stomach. The splattering noise hardly reaches him over the ringing in his ears.

They’re dead. He doesn’t know who those people were or how they got there or how  _ he _ got here, but they’re dead. It’s impossible to mistake the fact they were murdered. They were trying to defend themselves or attack something, something strong enough to crush their bones and heads like he had seen, something wielding a hammer-

His feet tangle with each other and he nearly trips as he stumbles away from the scene. Nothing makes sense. There’s a mountain of evidence pointing to a crime he’s committed, a crime he’s walking away from, but it’s impossible. Cole should remember what led up to that point. He should remember the deed he’s undergone. Why doesn’t he remember?

A scream claws itself out of his throat. He throws his fist out forward. Something crumples and shudders under his might. He recoils at the sound and looks up. It’s a wall. He’s reached the other end of the warehouse, a door to the outside not too far.

Cole trudges to it and flings it open. The sky is blue and the sun is shining and he wants to burst into tears. It’s a perfect day with perfect weather, but it feels insulting to the contrast of his mood.

He staggers towards an oil tanker, hiding from the sun in it’s shade. His legs refuse to carry him any longer and he slides down the side of the truck.

A distant rumbling is growing louder, but Cole finds he doesn’t care. Everything feels wrong. His body is grimy and his consciousness is guilt-burdened. Something else stirs inside of him. It feels just as broken and out of place as the rest.

He curls into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees, compacting his large form as best as he can. The rumbling ceases after a couple of minutes. Tire brakes squeal. Voices call his name. Assorted colors of ninja surround him and ask him what’s wrong.

But by then he’s already passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this au is kind of confusing and it took me like a hot minute to describe it in the ninjago city discord server. i might write up an explanation for it later, but for now, yall r just gonna have to make some theories abt whats up with homeboy Cole ;}


End file.
